


So Called Date

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Mission Fic, Multi, Tim Drake is Alvin Draper, Undercover, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-29 21:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18302285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: Damian stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark gray slacks, balled into tight fists. His jaw was clenched against the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn't fair. None of this was.





	So Called Date

**Author's Note:**

> For BatFamBingo2019 - "Undercover Fake Dating"  
> Just in case it throws anyone for a loop, some random dude watches them and jerks off. Just sayin'.  
> Beta: kate1zena

Damian stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark gray slacks, balled into tight fists. His jaw was clenched against the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. 

It wasn't fair.

None of this was. It wasn't fair that he was sixteen and he'd still never been on a date. It wasn't fair that now he was being _forced_ into a date for a damn case and no one knew this would be his first time.

The words echoed hollowly in his ears: _first time_. They felt like lead weights as they settled in his stomach, boiling with his stomach acid, leaving a bad taste creeping up his throat. Oh, how he hoped _that_ wasn't also required for this mission. He doubted it, knew it hadn't been planned that far in advance, but cases like these always held open ends. Do what you had to in order to protect the integrity of the data being obtained. _Anything for the cause_.

He swallowed against the threat of bile, straightened his shoulders, smoothed the line of his singled-breasted suit jacket and double-checked the flawless tuck of his black button-up beneath. He'd forgone the usual tie and instead left the top three buttons open, displaying an inviting bit of his collarbone. A single flat silver chain Grayson had gifted him three Christmas' ago rested along the line, drawing the onlooker's gaze. He shifted, reaching to grab his wallet, keys, and phone from the dresser. 

At least he would be _him_ for this fake date. His counterpart, sadly, would not be – a thing that both complicated Damian's life and _didn't_. It made his date nearly impossible to find but it also left him in a position that if they were found on this date, he would be out to the whole world. 

Damian glanced at himself in the mirror one last time, shook his head, and left the room, determined to at least do his best, even if he didn't really want to be on this so called date.

\---

Twenty miles later and a healthy dose of speed behind the wheel of his Lexus RC F, Damian found himself in front of one of Tim's properties that he held under a pseudonym. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect, not having had any interaction with this persona of Tim's. He knew he'd used it years ago to interact with Stephanie and that there was record of Tim having entered several foreign countries under the guise of _Alvin Draper_. 

He scanned the street and then flicked his eyes up to the shabby apartment complex just as the grimy glass door opened and what had to be the grown up version of Alvin made an appearance. Three steps to the sidewalk and Damian barely contained his shock at Tim's appearance.

He wore a tight black pair of jeans and a black Chino jacket over a _t-shirt_ for some 90s band Damian had only vaguely heard of. Three thick gold chains graced his neck, a matching single earring and a definitely _not_ matching black hoop through his left nostril. As Tim opened the door, Damian had to remind himself that this was _Alvin_. He might very well be Damian Wayne, but this was _not_ Tim Drake getting into his car.

Tim, _Alvin_ , slid in and Damian took note of the bright red Converse Chuck Taylors. Damian _did_ snort at that. He couldn't help it. Here he was wearing dress shoes and here Ti– Alvin was wearing Converse, _fucking Converse_ , on a damn date.

Well... a _not_ date, Damian reminded himself. 

"Nice shoes," he offered, hoping the sarcasm in his voice dripped as freely as he intended it to as he pulled away from the curb and back into the flow of traffic.

Alvin relaxed back in the seat, latched his fingers behind his head and splayed his elbows out. "Only the best, man. _Nostalgic_ , don't you think? So much of an era, just _gone_ , you know? Like, I know they're still around and all that, but like... man, they don't make them like this these days."

Damian resisted the urge to either pinch the bridge of his nose or reach over and smack _Alvin_ a good one. This persona was definitely _not_ Tim. At least that would make it easier not to slip up, he supposed, though why on Earth Damian Wayne would want to date this idiot, he had no idea. Maybe... _maybe_ he was a good lay. That's all he could really think.

The only issue there being that Damian was one hundred percent _still_ a virgin. He'd honestly have no idea what the difference between a good or a bad lay would be. Sure, he'd heard all the stories – even listened to some of Tim's from around the corner of a room he wasn't supposed to be creeping on – but that didn't mean he knew enough to tell personally.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and focused on getting them to their destination in one piece. They pulled up at the restaurant and Damian handed over the keys to the valet, receiving a small ticket stub for his trouble, which he tucked into his breast pocket before joining Alvin on the sidewalk, making their way up the red bricked walkway to the carved wood and iron doors. Immediately the doors were opened and they were ushered inside where a petite woman in shockingly high heels greeted them _by name_ , Damian first and then Alvin as the reservation had indicated, and then led them back through the candle-lit dining area to the specific alcove Damian had requested. The seat was one he'd had to pay a hefty price for and had slung Bruce's name around to obtain, bumping some poor unsuspecting socialite out of their booking just so they could be close to their target, who had a reservation in fifteen minutes at the next table over.

She left them with two elegantly leather-wrapped menus, each a single sheet, and disappeared from view. Damian considered the menu choices quietly and it was only his training that told him the waiter had appeared. Two glasses of water and two baskets of bread had appeared, one with a small indicator on it that when Damian consulted the menu meant it was gluten free. He selected a piece of bread from each, offered some to Tim, who only took the gluten free one, offering some comment about how he loved coconut flour breads, and went back to perusing the menu. 

A few minutes later, they heard the next table being seated and Damian put down his menu and folded his hands – having long ago figured out his meal selection but wanting to ensure they waited long enough that the other table arrived. The waiter appeared within seconds of Tim doing the same. Tim, _Alvin_ Damian reminded himself, ordered some sort of fish taco creation that sounded honestly hideous. Damian ordered a vegan ravioli dish with a butternut squash sauce that sounded divine. Neither of them ordered a drink other than water, despite the way it might look. It was mostly that Damian preferred wine with his meals but wasn't legally allowed and Tim generally liked to try to persuade him not to, which, honestly, Damian wasn't prepared to hear in any way from _Alvin Draper_.

Once the waiter had disappeared, Alvin instantly leaned closer, one elbow on the table in a display that would have put Alfred into instantaneous shock. He turned an almost feral look on Damian and very clearly looked him up and down, pushing his tongue between his teeth and clicking it. "Might I say... _damn_. You do clean up hella good."

The comment warred inside Damian. For one, _Tim_ – the one man he longed to have approve of his looks, if only due to the fact that he was the only other one that also preferred the company of another man – had just complimented him. On the other hand, _Alvin_ had done a fantastically poor job of it, almost enough so that Damian couldn't take the compliment to heart. 

Politeness rose up inside him, choking him the way he recalled the cloying scent of honeysuckle doing the first time he'd ever smelt it, until he managed to choke out, "Yes, well... your nose ring is very," he hesitated, cursing himself for being the least smooth motherfucker ever to walk the planet in that moment, and finally lamely finished, "pleasant."

Alvin's eyebrow hitched. "If I didn't know any better I'd almost think that wasn't a compliment at all."

Damian cursed himself, his very existence, even the fact that he'd been conceived and placed in that horrid tube. The truth was, the nose ring was kind of doing it for him and not at all for the reasons anyone might have suspected; two of his favorite porn stars just happened to have their noses pierced and the light stubble on Tim's jaw wasn't at all helping in the resemblance category. He'd wanted to say sexy, mouth-watering, delectable, or hell, even just bluntly tell Tim – _Alvin_ – that it made him want to shove him up against the nearest surface and perform every lurid act those two porn stars had ever done. But he also never wanted to say such incriminating words. Not to Tim, not to Alvin, and certainly not in the third fanciest restaurant Gotham had to offer.

Outwardly, Damian allowed himself to blush, let himself even look _demure_ for the benefit of anyone who might be watching through the shadows. Inwardly, he cursed himself and his libido and his damned luck. 

"It was meant as nothing but a compliment. Sincerely."

Alvin shifted his chair _very obviously_ toward Damian's side and it was with a jarring suddenness that Damian had Alvin's hand on his thigh, lightly rubbing, _squeezing_. "Yeah? You really like it? I got it on a whim one day. There I was in the mall and just _bam_! I thought, I should get my nose pierced!"

Once again a war raged in Damian's system. The words made him want to strangle this Alvin persona in some effort to re-obtain Tim. The touch, however, made him want all the things his porn made him want. The hand drifted further as Alvin continued the decidedly one-sided conversation about his nose ring and Damian's pulse climbed higher with every inch of skin that hand covered. 

There was absolutely nothing Damian could to do stop his body from betraying him, his cock starting to obscenely tent his slacks. He yanked the napkin from the table and scooted in, covering what was happening to him and reaching for the bread he'd selected, only vaguely paying attention to Alvin's chatter. He inserted his vague commentary here and there, wondering to himself why Tim's hand was still caressing his inner thigh when no one could see it anymore.

His breath caught and his entire body shuddered when Tim's pinky slid up the long line of the tent he'd created to rub at the head of his prick.

This wasn't playing any longer. It _couldn't_ be part of the game. Tim would _never_.

Damian glanced up at Alvin, found Alvin's cool demeanor with Tim's watchful eyes staring back at him. For a long moment they stared at one another, Tim's finger gently playing with the head of Damian's cock through his slacks. Tim's eyes flickered toward the bathroom and then back to Damian again, a questioning cock of his head indicating what he was suggesting, though Damian could hardly believe it. 

The truth was, though, he could barely think though this fog Tim had placed him in. He was _useless_ at his job right now. He hadn't heard a damn thing the other table had said since they sat down and that had been long before Tim started playing with him.

Damian knew how these games were played, he knew the respectable time frames and he knew the waiters always understood what was happening, though they played like they didn't. He also knew they'd keep their food back under the heat lamps until they returned to the table. He'd seen it happen dozens of times in higher end places. Couples would disappear from the table, first one and then the other, and both would return rosy-cheeked and in better spirits, and their food would follow them only a few minutes later, arriving from the kitchen as if by magic.

Damian stood, ditched his napkin and discretely readjusted his boner so it wasn't leading the way to the bathroom, and hurried toward the restroom. Once inside he checked the stalls, ditched the cufflink with the camera face down on the counter by the sink, and reached down to grab his erection, allowing himself a groan at how good it felt to obtain some amount of relief. 

A few minutes passed and Damian continued to fondle himself, ramping his arousal up until the door opened and Alvin stepped in, closing the door behind himself and immediately covering the distance between them. He ditched a pin he'd had pinned to his Chino jacket on the counter and then boxed Damian in against the metal wall of one of the stalls, leaning in almost all the way. He paused there, eyelids hooded, desire written across his entire being, and breathed out, "You want this, right? Not just some play for appearance's sake?"

Damian reached up, got him by both lapels and hauled him in solidly against his body, letting him feel how hard his cock was. "What do you think?"

Tim's mouth descended on his, _devoured_ his in a way Damian had never experienced. Sure he'd kissed some of his friends, had convinced Jon for years that friends could make out and they'd had a hell of a time working off excess steam with makeout sessions that never _ever_ went far enough to go where Tim had under the table out there. They'd kissed and groped one another's asses, but it had never gone further than that. 

Damian found himself thankful he had the experience to at least lend something to the kiss, though. They kissed like two men who were entirely desperate, deep and sloppy and heedless of anything beyond their bubble. The door opened and closed and they parted only for air and to ensure the person wasn't a threat. The guy assessed them and continued to the urinals, unzipping and starting to take a leak as Tim delved back in and Damian parted his lips for him reaching down and grasping Tim's belt loops, holding him still as he ground against him, marveling at the feeling of Tim's erection pressing back against him. 

The guy finished urinating and a moment later the distinct sound of him jerking off drifted to them. Tim clearly had to stifle a laugh, but Damian felt his blood run red hot with ramped up desire. The guy was beating off to them making out. A sudden burst of bravery struck Damian and he let go of Tim's pants, reached down between them and began to unfasten his belt and slacks, untucking his shirt from the front and exposing his erection. 

Random urinal guy groaned and Damian turned his hand, palming Tim through his jeans, breaking their kiss just enough to look down at what he was doing, shifting to rub the head of his cock along the straining line of Tim's dick through his jeans. Tim's hands came to guide Damian's up to the button on his jeans and Damian instantly took the hint, breathing in Tim's air as he unfastened his jeans and carefully freed his confined prick to the air of the bathroom. He settled the weight of it on his palm and slowly wrapped his fingers around it, memorizing the shape and feeling, gliding his hand up and down the length a few dozen times before letting go and reaching for Tim's hips, pulling him in and letting his head fall back against the metal partition. 

"Please," he whispered, rolling his hips against Tim's, hoping he'd get the point and take control so Damian didn't inadvertently fumble the whole thing.

Tim jerked his hips against Damian's, repositioned them, and then began a quick humping motion that rubbed their dicks together with every movement. Damian's mouth fell open, his hands plastering to the wall on either side of him, his hips arched out from the wall obscenely as Tim humped him. 

"Oh fuck," Tim whispered, his hands _everywhere_. He touched and massaged and rubbed and _gripped_ and it all made Damian want to cum so badly he was shaking with his need.

The other man jerked off loud enough Damian knew he was close, couldn't help himself as he slitted his eyes open and rolled his head to the side to watch as the guy openly jacked off, standing a few feet from them, cock on full display. His hips canted and his body took on a movement Damian was intimately familiar with in porn. A few seconds later he began to cum, guttural grunts accompanying the thick spurts of cum he deposited across the black floor tiles. He masturbated his way through the entire orgasm before slicking his thumb over the head and flicking the last bit onto the floor, zipping up, and going to wash his hands. 

Tim grabbed Damian's ass hard, his breath hitching, his movements growing more frantic and a fire lit inside Damian, his momentary distraction from his own need over, the burn returning a million times hotter in his core. He shuddered hard and came before he could so much as provide any warning. He let out a stifled little sound, cum spurting out all over Tim's dick as he continued to thrust against him like a madman. Tim gripped the top of the stall, his stance widening, and fucked against Damian's dick for all he was worth, his breathing hard, his mouth wide open, and then he was stiffening, a choked moan bubbling up from inside him. Warmth flooded over Damian's cock and despite the fact that he couldn’t see it, he could definitely _feel_ that Tim was cumming all over him. 

They both rode it out until Tim made an overstimulated sort of sound and had to pull away, only taking a few shaky steps over to the sink to rest his rear against it. Their little urinal spy had gone while they were finishing and Damian found himself glad for that. He rested there, cock out, eyes closed, his entire body tingling with his first time experience with another guy. Sure, he'd cum a few times while he and Jon were making out, but that had been embarrassing, not fulfilling. Not to mention he hadn't _meant_ to do that. 

This... this he'd meant to do.

He heard the sink turn on and then gasped when he felt a warm wet cloth against his skin. Cracking his eyes open, he watched Tim use a wet paper towel to clean him up, his own dick already tucked away, presumably equally as clean. Tim tossed the paper towel in the bin and crowded him in against the wall again, this time getting him all presentable, tucking his shirt in, doing up his pants and belt and smoothing out his wrinkles. He leaned in and kissed him solidly, only a hair's breadth away as he whispered, "Remember, _this_ was between Tim and Damian. Out there... that's between _Alvin_ and Damian, okay? Alvin's a bit of a piece of work. Me... I want the chance to tell you how much I've wanted that and for how long. To tell you everything else that goes with it. Promise me that much. Alright?"

Damian barely nodded, breathed out a quiet, "Yeah... just, yeah, of course."

Tim smiled against his lips and when he stepped back and retrieved his pin, he was all Alvin. "Hey, man, just like... finish up and get back out to the table, okay?" He opened the door and stepped out, muttering about people and their shy bladders. 

Damian sighed, pushed away from the wall and made a face at the floor where the other guy had left his cum, pulled out a few paper towels and tossed them on the mess, used his shoe to clean it and shoved the paper towels toward the bin, leaving them on the floor near it. He wouldn't touch it, but he also wouldn't be a dick and leave it since they'd technically caused it.

He washed up and exited the restroom, preparing himself for the rest of his dining experience with one Alvin Draper and his complete lack of tact. Two things were certain. One: he liked Tim and two: he didn't much care for Alvin.


End file.
